The Christmas Conspiracy
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: My annual Yule-tide fic, a little early. A take on the well-used plot of a Hogwarts Christmas Carol but with enough mercy to spare Severus from playing Scrooge. Instead, it's the nitwit himself- Albus Dumbledore.
1. Marley's Ghost

Author's Note: It's a small teaser chapter, I know but this is the beginning of my long-threatened, annual HP Christmas story. This story is meant to take place sometime during the new war…so I'll endeavor to say during Order of the Phoenix. **This is not a Dark Prince story. **I don't own Charles Dickens' wonderful story nor do I own JK Rowlings' wonderful characters but enjoy how I butcher them anyways. Happy Holidays!

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

**The Christmas Conspiracy**

**By: Lady Erised**

**Chapter One: Gathering of Spirits**

_"Marley was dead, to begin with. _

_There is no doubt whatever about that._

_The register of his burial was signed by_

_The clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker_

_And the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it._

_And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change_

_For anything he chose to put his hand to. _

_Old Marley was as dead as a doornail. _

_This must be distinctly understood or nothing _

_wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate…"_

Severus Snape looked up from his leather bound tome at the sound of a soft rapping on his door. He thought idly for a moment that it was Albus Dumbledore, the school's Headmaster, calling on him to drag him to the Christmas Staff Party. This had become a yearly event for both the Potions Master and the Headmaster, one that was approached with hidden affection and feigned angst by both parties. Snape set his face into a grim sneer and buried himself deep into his chair, preparing himself for that most loved of hobbies: tormenting Dumbledore.

"Enter." He growled, and looked down to mark his spot.

The door opened timidly, not at all like Dumbledore's confident stride, causing Severus to look up again. There stood not Dumbledore, but Minerva McGonagall, her small hands wrung together in front of her making her appear small and nervous in his dim light. Snape frowned, closing his book, and sitting up as she was joined by the hulking figure of the Groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid, and the slender pale figure of Remus Lupin.

"Who's dead?" He deadpanned.

"Oh Severus," Minerva hissed, looking away from him. "Don't say such things."

"What else can I do when you darken my door?"

"You can help us." Remus said in his normal aloof manner. He folded his arms over his thin chest, nodding. "With Albus."

"What's he doing?"

"It's what he's not doing that frightens us!" Hagrid chirped.

"Oh?" In all honestly, Severus couldn't care less what the Headmaster was doing, (at least that's what he could pretend) but knew he would not be free of these irksome spirits until he had heard their plight. He made a motion for his decanter, refusing to stand and pour however. To do that, would be to admit he wanted their company.

Remus shook his head at the glass Hagrid offered to him. "He's locked himself in his room."

"Gift wrapping presents no doubt…"

"No. Locking himself in." Minerva murmured. "Refusing company, or anything."

"The Staff Party's begun…" Severus began uneasily as he rose. He had to admit the news was disturbing at best and in truth, downright frightening. Albus Dumbledore was a pillar and an especially important one now that the war had begun again. He didn't like the mental image of such a pillar stumbling under the weight of his own burden. "Are you sure he's not just biding his time for an entrance?"

"He's sent Remus and I away when we've come to bring him." Minerva added softly. She took a step forward, brushing Snape's arm. "The Board of Governors are upstairs too. If Dumbledore doesn't appear soon…in his usual upbeat mood…I fear what Lucius will turn this into."

Snape frowned, and glanced idly at his chair, where his book rested undisturbed. He inhaled quietly, mainly to gather some strength together for the madness he was about to undergo. Still, his childish idea did give him the smallest amount of joy.

After all, how many times did he of all people get to the herald of Christmas cheer?

"I have an idea." Severus murmured softly, and on command, the others came to the alert. "But I'll need your help."


	2. Ghost of Christmas Past

**Author's Note: ****Liberty**** was taken with Albus' childhood, and although there's no "ghost" in it, it stays true the spirit of the first Stave. I will have this story done by Christmas, God willingly. Be kind to your poor writer and leave us a boon. Read and enjoy, review if you wish. **

**Chapter Two: Ghost of Christmas Past**

It was a calm quiet night with a wind chill just right for bringing thin strands of the music from the Christmas party into Albus' rooms. It made Dumbledore restless and nervous, despite the familiarity of his old rooms. He inhaled and set his quill down, to rise and pace the length of the room in a vain attempt to ignore the sounds below. He glanced outside his frosted window, and sighed. There was no snow falling but still a blanket of thin gray snow sparked in the moonlight like diamonds. Albus tugged his cloak a little closer to his frame, brushing the window with his cuff.

_"Think of it as a game." Albus murmured to his sister._

_Roxanne glanced at him from under her thin hood. The wisps of her auburn hair were white with snowflakes and those dim blue eyes that always struck his young frame with fear and pity seemed even more downcast when matched with her small blue lips. But she smiled at him, and trusted him because he was her older brother Albus and she trusted him in his wisdom to keep her warm and fed. _

_He forced up a smile, while glancing to Aberforth who stood guard near the edge of the street. Aberforth glanced back at Albus and made a motion for him to hurry. Albus cursed under his breath and rejoined his sister as they clawed through the snow to retrieve their bounty. _

_"It looks like diamonds." Roxanne sang nervously. "We're searching for our buried treasure, aren't we Albus?"_

_"Yes, pup. Diamonds. How many can you find?"_

_The frost seemed to turn seconds into months, as he dug deeper into the ice, feeling his fingers cut and pierced from the cold. He was shaking and red, and his eyes were beginning to blur from the glare but he kept digging till finally his fingers curled around his diamonds. Finding some swell of strength, Albus clutched it and yanked._

_"You found them!" Roxanne shrieked as she picked up the potato he had writhed free of the snow. Despite himself, Albus smiled at her and continued till he had pulled three more thin, misshapen potatoes from the cellar. Another triumphant smile graced the 11year old's features from the pride of understanding that he, the Master of the House, had provided the Christmas dinner. _

_A moment later, Aberforth rushed forward telling them Roxanne's yelp had started the servants. Albus quickly tucked his stolen meal into his robes and darted after his two siblings as they raced towards the manor's main gate, to scale and escape back into the safe anonymity of their slum. _

Albus laughed at the memory, even as he wiped something from his cheek. The days of his childhood seemed so very far away now, and sometimes he wondered if he had imagined it all. Especially Roxanne. She had been the youngest of the brood, as hard and sturdy as a rose petal and just as beautiful. She had looked most like their mother- a delicate woman also- and Albus wondered briefly if that had stressed his compassion for his little sister even more.

Their story had been typical of the time, and station in which his mother had lived. Catherine Dumbledore, Irish by birth but somehow settled in Manchester, had been wooed by which she claimed to be a rich Sussex gentlemen who had bought her ivory combs, and chocolates when she was a girl, and had taken her to live concerts and plays and would tickle her cheek with his fine leather gloves. He kept her in a small apartment, and would visit Catherine from time to time- eventually fathering three children. Shortly before Roxanne was born, however, the visits from this fine Sussex landowner ceased and Catherine: with no education and three bastard children was turned out to the streets.

They lived for some time as squatters, and occasional seasonal help. Catherine worked as a laundress and charwoman. Aberforth mended carriages and coaches. When Albus turned six, he began work hustling newspapers in the market places, and became quite able handed at liberating fruits and vegetables (and sometimes if Albus was lucky, and the merchant sloppy: fish) from tables and passing carts. He always told his mother they fell.

Albus laughed again at his crimes, not so much to bask in the memory but to mourn them. His childhood was a rough, callous thing he was too pleased to forget. Things had changed little until he was 13 and a man claiming to be his father's brother appeared.

Handsome but aged and beaten down by trials a life, this newfound Uncle treated the children with feigned kindness. He claimed to be a soldier of some kind, and Catherine accepted this, bring the children to live in a home he provided. They lived in humble comfort, eventually attending Hogwarts and growing into adulthood. Gradually, Albus understood words he never would have heard as a Muggle: soldier became another word for Auror, and racism turned into superiority of blood, and half-crazed tyrants became unfrocked Kings.

Albus felt his heart twist as he recalled another Christmas, many years later.

_The house was a chaotic mess of mistletoe, holly and people. Women wove small footpaths over children and men and animals and excess clothing shed once indoors. Every once in a while, a woman's righteous scream would be heard- shooing someone out of the kitchen back into the other rooms. There was Lily and Dorcas Meadows in the kitchen, trying their best not to appear upset as each commented on how gravy should be properly made and tasted. Outside, barks of laughter from Remus, Sirius and James wafted in, as the three fought Mad-Eye, Frank and Alice Longbottom in a friendly game of snowballs. A woman with dark hair, dressed in gray, watched from the sidelines, trying in vain to appear unaffected by the fact the Aurors were losing. _

_It didn't seem to matter at all Fabian Prewett who was trying his best (though she'd be loathed to admit it worked) to make the woman smile. There now, came Peter Pettigrew, tumbling through the door with his arms full of last-minute gifts, being followed by Albus' brother who was also laid down with gifts. _

_Edgar Bones rose, shaking his aged body like a dog, as he did to help. He shouted some childish obscenity at Benjy, who was being kicked out of the kitchen just in time to help with the gifts._

_It was a trivial event to be sure, one that altogether must have been a small matter but very much appreciated. For one shining moment, though it still loomed like a specter, the war was forgotten and dismissed. Allies could pretend for one day to be friends, and remember that peace was once a dream realized on earth. _

_It had been Albus who suggested the photograph. He had wanted something small and tangible to prove that it had been real, that this was not some vision his lonely mind had created for the day's sake. He had wanted proof that the world was real once, and alive. _

_Before all those terrible deaths had occurred, and before the world had darkened under betrayal and warfare._

Albus cursed aloud and turned away from the memory. He tried desperately to ignore the tears that burned his cheeks but couldn't. There had been too much passed between to have the happiest continue. Too much blood was on his hands. He cursed again, this time loudly and enraged at the cruelty of it all. He wondered how peace could be invoked at such times as those that passed before him, or those he knew to come.

Beyond his chambers, in the Staff Room, he knew the guests were grouped together in thinly veiled acts of happiness and joy. And he knew, acutely, that some of the guest who intermingled with each other were murderers and traitors. Albus felt a stab of anger at the hypocrisy of it all.

It was all pretense and it made Albus sick to think of it. He hated the dead, and the Day. He longed for it all to leave him alone. He could no longer play at this game. He would no longer play at it.

It was all humbug, in a manner of speaking.

Albus slumped into his chair. Silently cursing the Ghosts that danced before his eyes to leave him, and haunt him no longer. He would have no more of their torment.

From his place in hiding, Severus gazed at the Headmaster as Albus drifted into slumber. He had known no one would have to invoke memories of the past to Albus, the Headmaster- like most during this time- dwelled too long in the past and what could not be changed. And like most, he mourned over in inability of change it.

"These are but shadows of things that have been," Severus murmured, running his hand over his left forearm as if he meant to wipe away something. "That they are what they are…do not blame me."

"What Professor?"

Snape shook his head, and turned to Hagrid. "You're on. Remember the others are ready for you in the Staff Room but you'll not to be seen." Another beat. "Minerva and I will be waiting for our cue."


End file.
